I let my nails grow.
I paint them with the pixie dust that fall from the fairies in my backyard.
I want to speak, but I learned a few things.
If I’m silent like a mouse, my hearing becomes sharper
And I’ll learn better than the mouth who hunts
all at once.

I let my grays grow.
I allow them their passage within my black strands like ornamental streamers
For they retell the wisdom that teaches how darkness beds with the light.
Do you like absence?
It’s where we find ourselves, stark and naked
built like the sacred nature of trees.

The world is beautiful,
but they didn’t tell you this because they wanted to ruin it for you too.
The black magic of which we fight against.
A mashed-up world of thoughts and identities hide in the crisis
Of the bloodstream from all the things you were told, you believed you were not.

How can I tell you the world is beautiful?
We learn to appreciate it late. The wind, water, the rocks,
And the soil are boundless in a way where we can’t measure on earth
’til we leave this place. But, until then, let’s love the world today.

The blood stops short trapped before a hair tie, until I release the bun of tension: post exercise of body-induced drama. This is the captivating magic of night.

*

The mind works itself into heavy persuasion. The body labors with intense urging. The heart never questions what the goals are or what state of peak condition or overwhelmed fatness I stand in. A sober thought I do entertain is how someone can not understand the significance of body awareness and its dynamism.

I have a passionate addiction to adrenaline and to the exclusive kick of the way my muscles drum within its act of compulsion. The heart skips, skips and skips uninhibited. It beats obsessively and storms out my mouth like an aggressive bird. It ignites the fight and frenzy over the psyche and tissue land of freedom.

I’ve failed many times and am more successful because of every stoppage. And now every weakness is formed into substantial strength and what strength has already been established has now constructed itself into marble and stone.

The focus is better determined than years previous. The focus is better established than the last set and the mind-muscle connection tastes stronger than the last seething rep. I’ve been sucked into a craving that’s unaware of its bounds. I throw my fists into the air to battle and enter new coordination and balance ground.

My chest hovers over the floor, shoulders and triceps contract, hum and weep pushing up 200lbs plus over and over again. The brace of my abdominals is my body’s endless support and savior. Now there’s a surge spreading like a wild forest fire burning each of my hamstring fibers and into every angle and groove of my glutes with a various amount of hip thrust and single-leg pelvic bridges I can muster under time and tension. The inner thigh screams by its own distress signals and fleshly vulnerability. The burn degrees increase and I pull my center deeply to the spine to further the accuracy of the focal point along with the present.

I grimace in pain and drill my teeth into my own mouth. I start to elevate and disappear like smoke. I’m high now and there’s an exit. I’m high and there are no thoughts struggling its way to birth other thoughts. I’m high and suddenly there are no problems in the world. There is no suffering. There is only bliss and light. There is only presence and heaven. There is only the state of pure being.

I need you to be above.
Like I know you to be.
I want you to fit like a glove.
In the way you say I need.
I require you keep alert.
And be objective.
You can go first.
I don’t mind being second sometimes.
You can take a side,
As long as it isn’t subjective.
Go the distance,
Without resistance.
Remain afloat,
Even when it’s most difficult.
Stay on the up and up.
Who desires to be miserable?
Please don’t fail me now.

2.

I’m holding onto your different,
And your difference.
I’m giving myself – almost at – full imminence,
In the name of new innocence.
You have been the constant light
In my consuming darkness.
The only friend in my life
Who remained honest.
You were (and still are) the love
When I didn’t have any.
When I was down and heavy
Because life was off and plenty
You became the bandages
That kissed my wounds away.

I’ll remember you as cold and typically distant, there in body – not in spirit, on your phone nonstop, barely a spoken word, tiny complaints, annoyed facial expressions, being passive, sex on the forefront of the mind, in and out menial conversations, game apps, assisting me and the folding of my wheelchair, zero mantra of hope, making me sandwiches and fetching cups of orange juice, implying I may not be in as much pain as I seem, comfort in the back of the car when the wind directed my flowing tears after leaving my mother’s burial, sharing a cab ride, and a cracked joke about my mom on her way to heaven asking for a cigarette.

I’ll remember you as a selfish bitch, grieving inwardly and out, unconcerned when it came to everyone else, money-seeking cuntbag, couldn’t carry out a sister’s dying wish of cremation, head out in the clouds of complete nothingness, forgotten identification card, planning a memorial for death as a healthy outlet, taking time off work to eat like a greedy hog who’s content to be lazy, judging others, caring for nonsense drama like a half-sister threatening you with words on Facebook and sending me on my way with one-hundred dollars and bags of brand new clothing.

I’ll remember you as a developing friend who became my good friend, who redirected his attraction to me so we can be platonic, who wanted to represent something new and different in my life, as the one who cared for me with warm compresses, tending to my cyst, having meals prepared along with home accommodations so I can maneuver around the house with a broken ankle, who gave me poetry every day of light and love, hands of great passion which caressed my face and taught me about warmth I have missed, who visited my dying mother along with me because you felt, more than I that it was significant.

I’ve built up everything in these feelings
Without thought.
The way they rushed over me
Like runaway daughters
Who fought.
I wish I could tell you
How much I miss you
Despite the million missiles
In revolt.
And I wish I could keep things
Simple like shades
And never know the difference
between light
And of what fades.
And I wish I could say
Love is enough
To brighten the greys.
But I’m no fool because
The heart’s name is Jack
And with all the trades.
It betrays.

I held on for so long
To every obese memory
Overstayed my welcome
Listening to old songs.
We were trying to
Strengthen our wrongs
But what came about
Were melodies
Of unsung tongues.
I wish I could help you
Carry on.
Assist beyond
Coming out of oneself
Locating that inner calm.
For when blame
Is passed like a baton
Everyone cries like Miss Saigon.
And oh how the moments were blonde!
Every Don Juan I kissed
Never brought you back
My black swan.

And I was on repeat
Of a fantasy of us laughing.
Then every chuckle was on delete
Because It worked better in my head
Daring and smashing!
Even the rough drafts
And imaginary monologues
And paragraphs
I wrote on sticky pads.
Those fucking arguments
And the realization of the end
From the middle of which we stood
By the marvellousness of our youth.
Was I not your muse?
Or you mine?
And in those mistakes
Of devotion and abuse
Did we seldom refuse
To pay our dues
When they embarked within truth?